Scars
by Shobogan
Summary: A corrupt Monarch invades the Doctor's mind with sadistic curiosity.


Notes: The Fifth Doctor's head is not, in fact, a very fun place to be. I wanted to show a glimpse of what he buries so neatly; so, naturally, I tied him up and subjected him to mental assault.

It was no difficult feat to trap him. She had been watching them — three, him the reluctant leader — since they arrived and started meddling in her affairs. She felt no threat from them, really; she had ruled for almost a decade, and thwarted so many uprisings.

He piqued her interest, however. She had never seen such a contradiction — an ancient youth, a fumbling knight, a dignified rebel.

She had learned his weakness, however — the two with him, the brash critic and the sullen exile. After ordering their captivity it was dreadfully easy to secure his cooperation.

She smiles as he falls, and begins to prepare.

She watches him awake, lips curving as he assesses his surroundings, so quickly, so efficiently. She can feel his mind buzzing already, working through the possibilities.

It takes him a moment to feel the connection, aided by technology even he doesn't recognise, and his eyes widen.

"I was curious," she murmured, stepping into his line of sight and revelling in his surprise.

"So many echoes of death in your eyes." She moves closer, reaching out to gently close his eyes; he doesn't resist, perhaps saving his strength for later.

Her fingers are guided by instinct to his temples, probing the scars underneath.

_the librarian swings from dying lights into the spider's web, giving his life to freedom_

_the broken traveller falls and shatters for the last time, and his blood smells like orchids_

_wild fire consumes homes and churches and forgotten lives, and it is supposed to, and he does nothing_

He shudders beneath her restraints, fighting to keep this next memory buried, far from her reach, and he succeeds. He is stronger than she thought but this leaves him all the more vulnerable; he cannot stop her from continuing.

_a young man of twisted ambition martyrs himself rather than deal with disillusion, the son atoning for the father's cowardice_

_she wields her weapon, consumed by a faith of condemnation, and the shot takes her bitter heart before he can save her from herself_

"You do mourn for everyone, don't you?" Wry disdain, reluctant admiration, and of course he must feel them both.

_the cynical orphan dies for her god_

_a world condemned as he knew it would be; his body a model to build their army on; children and families and strangers and friends lost to steel drained of blood_

_civil war and incurable disease, misunderstandings and good intentions, he could never have known_

"It doesn't stop the guilt, does it? It never does. Oh, how tragic you are."

_hundreds of needless deaths, the blood of gladiators staining his hands_

_an old friend he never knew dies in his arms, his last sacrifice to peace and friendship_

_a man of honour consumed by greed throws himself at last to the wolves, to find redemption in their indifferent jaws_

"And so close together," she whispers. "What an adventure that must have been."

A flash of indignant protest, restrained fury, and it makes her smile again; a sad smile that he can't see, but might as well.

_he aims at his fallen hero, and shoots, and hopes he can finally rest_

_he won't give his lives to end their foolishness, no matter the despair in their eyes — but he will for them, always for them_

_she'll die here_

_she'll die here_

_she'll die here_

_Get out._

She shudders, and opens her eyes to find him looking at her, his gaze clear and derisive. She realises that he's far older than she is, that she's no right to dig through his memories, or to judge them, that he's done more than she could dream of, that she should be ashamed of herself...

"I thought you were too honourable to mess around in peoples' heads."

"There are exceptions to every rule." He shouldn't be able to speak at all; his voice is weak but dignified, and he's looking at her with such disappointment.

It should hardly matter what a stranger thinks _but I'm hardly a stranger now, am I?_

Her eyes widen and she backs away from him, but he only smiles; a sad smile that tightens her chest.

"Let me go, please, and you can forget."

She does, and she can't.


End file.
